


Happy New Year, Johnny Rose

by SuiteJayne



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Awkwardness, Canon Jewish Character, Gen, Humor, Jewish Holidays, Rosh HaShana | Jewish New Year, Yom Kippur | Atonement Day, apologies gone horribly wrong, awkward humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26668402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuiteJayne/pseuds/SuiteJayne
Summary: John decides to observe the Jewish High Holidays for the first time in a long while. Since part of the process is making amends to those he has wronged, he makes a list of people he needs to apologize to. But things don’t go quite as he planned.
Relationships: Alexis Rose & David Rose & Johnny Rose & Moira Rose, Johnny Rose & Roland Schitt & Jocelyn Schitt, Johnny Rose/Moira Rose, Ronnie Lee & Johnny Rose, Stevie Budd & Johnny Rose
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	Happy New Year, Johnny Rose

The light was already fading when John and Moira stopped by Cafe Tropical to pick up takeout. It was a beautiful evening, and they’d meandered around Schitt’s Creek on the way, holding hands and enjoying each other’s company and the crisp fall air. Now Moira stopped at one of the booths to chat with Jocelyn and Roland while John paid for their food. While Twyla was putting it all in a carrier bag, John noticed a flyer taped to the side of the baked goods display case. 

TSUR EMEK CONGREGATION  
Rock out at the Jewish New Year!  
Rosh Hashanah services held at Elmdale Convention Center  
Tickets available at the door

John felt a vague pang of guilt. He’d forgotten that Rosh Hashanah started that night. He hadn’t attended services in years, but the High Holidays conjured up warm memories of his family celebrating with elaborate meals and amiable, Manischewitz-fueled debates. Along with, of course, memories of intense boredom and hunger induced by endless Yom Kippur services, when you were supposed to fast and pray and and wring your hands over everything you’d done wrong over the previous year. It was the culmination of the whole awkward process where you apologized to everyone in your life for the little slings and arrows that were part of every relationship—a little like step four in AA, except that a whole bunch of Jews were hustling to take the step simultaneously.

An apple cake in the baked goods display case caught John’s eye. Maybe this year was a good time to revisit some traditions—or even start a few new ones with Moira and the kids.

“Twyla, would you please wrap up four pieces of that apple cake as well?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Rose,” Twyla said. “Enjoy. And Happy New Year, by the way!”

“Thanks, Twyla!” John smiled. He grabbed the carrier bag and met Moira at the door. 

Back at the motel, the conversation flowed easily over dinner. Moira was excited about the publicity stills from _The Crows Have Eyes III_ , David was waxing rhapsodic over a new vendor he’d just landed for Rose Apothecary, and Alexis was glowing over ongoing accolades from her Singles Week success. John brought out the apple cake with a flourish.

“Happy New Year!” he said. “I thought we’d mark the occasion for a change. More wine, anyone?”

The other members of his family looked from John to their slices of cake dubiously. 

“Yum,” Alexis began, forking a bite. “But Dad, it’s September. New Year’s isn’t for another three months plus.”

“Rosh Hashanah, Alexis, the Jewish New Year! It’s traditional to eat things made with apples and honey to wish for a sweet new year.”

“Wait a minute, aren’t you supposed to avoid baked goods?” David inquired, tucking into his piece of cake. “Isn’t there, like, a commandment about that?”

“That’s _Passover_ , David,” John said. 

“But what about the jelly donuts?” Alexis interjected. “What are those called again? Sufjan Stevens?”

“Oh my gosh, I love him!” said David.

“No, you mean _sufganiyot_ ,” said John, exasperated. “And those are for Hanukkah! Totally different holiday!”

He looked around at his family, their faces registering surprise at his vehemence.

“Never mind,” John said with a sigh. 

He munched on his cake in silence. He felt like a bad Jew. His kids had somehow reached adulthood having retained little or no knowledge of their Jewish heritage. What had all those bar and bat mitzvah prep classes been for, if this was the result? Well, there was no time like the New Year to rectify things. Plenty of people gained a sudden sense of urgency at this time of year, dusting off their kippot, shuffling through the synagogue doors for the first time in a year, and cringing as the rabbi heavily implied that their absence had not gone unnoticed. 

“I’m going to Rosh Hashanah services tomorrow in Elmdale,” John announced abruptly. “Anyone want to join me?”

“Um, there’s a synagogue in Elmdale?” said Alexis, avoiding the question.

“Yes, and I thought it would be nice for us to go for once, as a family,” said John. “What do you say?”

The other Roses all started talking at once.

“I have to do inventory at the store tomorrow—”

“I have a crucial wig fitting—”

“I’m filling in for the receptionist at Ted’s practice—”

“Fine,” John cut them all off. “Fine. I’ll go by myself.”

The following day, John dressed in a sober suit and tie with a white button down and shiny black shoes. He drove to Elmdale and parked in the ramp next to the unprepossessing convention center. It was packed. John hadn’t realized there was such a large Jewish population in the area, although he supposed the High Holidays might pull people in from all over. He joined a crush of cheerful congregants in torn jeans, tee shirts, and flannel, and started to feel a little overdressed. After buying his ticket from a young woman with a kippah, dreadlocks and tie-dyed maxi skirt, he entered the convention space to find no orderly rows of chairs—just a huge, milling crowd of casually dressed Jews of all descriptions. Then he was hit by a wall of sound. There was a four-piece rock band onstage and a hyper young rabbi leaping and pumping her fists in the air as she shouted into a microphone.

“Welcome to Tsur Emek! How are we doing today?”

Whoops from the crowd.

“I can’t hear you!”

The crowd wailed even more loudly.

“Are you ready to hear the shofar?

Thunderous noise.

“Are you ready to wake up?”

The crowd cheered and whistled.

“Are you ready to praise Adonai?”

Congregants were screaming and waving their arms. The room was already getting warm and humid from the crush of bodies, and John dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. Suddenly a cadre of people in prayer shawls materialized onstage carrying shofars and blew shockingly loud blasts on the traditional rams’ horns into their mics. The crowd went wild. John could barely hear the rabbi uttering the various blessings as the band launched into a deafening punk-rock version of [Avinu Malkeinu](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kLJp28usdk&ab_channel=Coke) and a mosh pit started to gel in the front. John slunk out the door, his ears ringing.

This was not quite the solemn, staid temple of his youth. To each their own, but there was no way John could stick out this level of noise and heat and enthusiasm for a whole day. However, it was far too early to give up on the High Holidays, John thought as he pulled out of the parking ramp and headed back to Schitt’s Creek. He’d just have to observe them on his own terms.

The next day found John throwing bread crumbs into the gurgling stream that gave its name to Schitt’s Creek. He watched a family of ducks gobble up the little symbols of his past year’s sins. He supposed he should figure out the people to whom he owed an apology. He could think of a few right off the bat. Brushing the remaining crumbs off his fingers, he pulled out a pen and found a crumpled receipt in his wallet. He wrote on the back:

Ronnie  
Bob  
Roland  
Stevie

Then he hesitated. The “I’m sorry” that really needed to be said—the big one, an apology for more than a social slight—loomed at the back of his mind like a giant lurking just out of sight. Finally he made himself scribble three more names.

David  
Alexis  
Moira

Yikes. Written out like that the list seemed a little intimidating. Maybe he’d do one apology per day. That was manageable. He’d need to start right away, though. Squaring his shoulders, John strode off to the town council offices.

Ronnie was at her desk when John walked in. His entrance merited a raised eyebrow.

“Ronnie!” John started with forced bonhomie. “Just the person I was looking for.”

“Really.”

“Yes, yes,” John hemmed and hawed. The first apology, he recalled, was always the hardest. “You know, I’ve been thinking. I feel badly about an assumption I made about you back when Moira was running for council. Remember when you hosted a campaign event for her?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, I know it was an association of women business owners,” John forced a chuckle. “But at first I thought— What I mean to say is—”

“You thought we were all lesbians.”

“Well...yes.”

“So you’re here to apologize because you assumed I was gay,” Ronnie said flatly, standing up and coming around her desk to lean against it with her arms crossed.

“Uh-huh,” John said. “That about covers it.” 

Ronnie was silent. She was silent for so long that John was practically bursting with his desire to fill the airwaves. 

“Well, I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve had to clear up that particular misunderstanding,” he finally blurted.

“Excuse me?” 

“Well, you know, because of—” John made a sweeping gesture that encompassed Ronnie’s closely cropped hair and her jeans and work boots.

“Because of how I look?”

“Er—when you put it like that—”

“And you thought I would be offended when you assumed I was gay.”

“Well, yes.”

“Why did you think I would be offended?”

“Uh—”

“Is there something wrong with being gay?”

“NO! God, no!”

“Let me get this straight. No pun intended,” said Ronnie, pushing off the desk and approaching John slowly and menacingly. “You came here to apologize to me because, point number one: based on my clothes and my hair, you assumed I was a lesbian.”

“Listen, Ronnie—”

“No, I’m not done. You also came here to apologize because, point number two: it was an offensive thing to imply.”

“That…” John briefly considered walking back the entire thing. Then he gave up. His shoulders slumped. “That’s correct.”

“Well, guess what,” Ronnie said. “What actually offends me? This whole conversation.”

With that, she grabbed her jacket and let the door slam behind her as she walked out of the building. John collapsed onto a chair. This had not gone according to plan. But Ronnie was a tough customer. Tomorrow, he’d talk to Bob. They were pals. It would be easy.

“Knock knock,” John said, pushing open the door to the auto shop the following morning. “How’s business, Bob?”

“Oh, you know, Johnny,” said Bob, standing up from a rolling desk chair from which he’d been contemplating the Honda on the lift in front of him. “Could be better.”

“Yes, well, I’ll get right to the point,” said John. “Listen, Bob, you did me a favor letting me office out of your shop a while back, and I always felt badly about the way I left. I’m sorry if I ended the arrangement abruptly.”

“Woah, Johnny, that’s great and all,” said Bob, spreading his hands. “But don’t tell me you’re going to ignore the elephant in the room!”

“Er—you mean the time I tried to do a car repair and accidentally ruined that guy’s engine?”

“That was bad, but no—I’m talking about something completely different.”

“Enlighten me, Bob.”

“Something that the whole town stood to benefit from. Maybe the whole region. I’m not just talking about my own selfish needs, Johnny.”

“Okay, Bob, I give up. What are you talking about?”

“The bagel shop, Johnny! The one you promised to Schitt’s Creek—promised _me!_ ”

“What? Bob, I did not promise—”

“You’re standing in front of me apologizing for a hasty end to our office share, and yet you can’t bring yourself to acknowledge the bagel shop? It was like a dagger through my heart when you went back on that.”

“Bob, you are misremembering. The bagel shop was just a ‘for instance.’ It wasn’t a real business idea!”

“Could have fooled me. And Gwen.” Bob shook his head. “Look Johnny, the emotions are still raw. I’d suggest you send Gwen a basket of muffins as an apology, but baked goods would probably just be rubbing salt in the wound.”

Just then Bob’s phone rang. He scrambled to pick it up before the ringtone repeated itself.

“Hi, honey! Yeah, I’m at the shop with Johnny Rose. What?” Bob turned to John, eyes wide with trepidation. “I’ll tell him for you, honey. You don’t have to come down here…” But the line went dead. 

“Listen, Johnny, you might want to leave now,” Bob warned him, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Gwen’s on her way to give you a piece of her mind about the bagel shop, and I don’t think you’ll want to stick around for that.” 

John left the auto shop in a stew. He had been all set with a magnanimous apology, but it had somehow gotten twisted along the way. Instead of feeling unburdened, he was annoyed. Roland was next on his list. Maybe he should get Roland’s apology over with and take a day off to recuperate tomorrow. Yes, that sounded good. But first he’d fortify himself at the cafe.

Half an hour later, John was pushing his pasta salad around his plate as Twyla bustled by. He flagged her down.

“Twyla, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he said. “I was surprised that you knew it was Rosh Hashanah the other day. You’re not Jewish, and I barely remembered myself!”

“I actually flirted with converting to Judaism when I was a teenager,” Twyla replied. “I guess I never got out of the habit of tracking the holidays. But I never went through with conversion. It’s a wonderful religion, but I was mostly just trying to get out of being forced into an underage marriage with a member of the cult that my family was in at the time.”

Twyla rolled her eyes with a lighthearted chuckle as John all but choked on an olive. 

“I’m—I’m glad you weren’t forced into a teen marriage,” he finally managed. 

“Me too, Mr. Rose! Me too.”

That afternoon, John knocked on the Schitts’ door and put on his most disarming smile when Jocelyn opened it. Roland Jr. was slung over her shoulder. Jocelyn’s hair was mussed and the bags under her eyes betrayed a string of sleepless nights.

“Hi Johnny! Did you come to babysit?” Jocelyn asked. Her eyes looked strangely afire. “Please tell me you came to babysit,” she added in a hoarse whisper.

“Uh, sorry Jocelyn, but I actually came to talk to Roland.”

The fire in Jocelyn’s eyes was suddenly extinguished. She wheeled around on her heel and stalked off toward the baby’s room, leaving the door open behind her but neglecting to invite John inside. The back of her tee shirt was streaked with opaque white spit-up.

“Roland?” called John, poking his head through the door.

“Johnny!” Roland’s head appeared over the arm of the sofa. He looked pretty rough, too. His pallor had a faint blue tint and his beard was looking shaggy. His flannel shirt was dusted with formula powder. Nevertheless, Roland swung his feet onto the floor, stood up with a wobble, and made his way over to John. 

“How are you, man?”

“Never better, Roland! Say, look, I’ll cut to the chase, because it seemed like Jocelyn could use a hand with Roland Jr.”

“You’re here to babysit?” Roland clutched suddenly at his lapels.

“Well no, I meant she could use a hand...from you,” John clarified awkwardly. “I just had something I wanted to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything, Johnny, you know that,” Roland said with a sage nod. 

“Well, I came to apologize.”

“Apologize? Oh—for how you made me, mayor of Schitt’s Creek, clean out all the disgusting gutters at the motel?”

“Well, no, because that’s your job.”

“For insinuating that my barbecuing skills were not up to snuff?”

“No, not that—”

“For letting the truck run out of gas and stall on the side of the highway that one time?”

“Er, that wasn’t what I had in mind either.”

“I’m all ears, then.”

“Well, I wanted to apologize for the time when I made you turn off your phone in our meeting and...well...”

“Oh, gotcha,” Roland nodded. “The time when you made me leave my phone behind and run errands all over town while my wife was frantically calling me between contractions and I almost ended up missing my son’s birth.”

“Yes,” John said. “That.”

“Well, thanks Johnny, I accept your apology,” Roland said, clapping John on the shoulder.

Before John could register his relief that this apology had gone so well, there came a strangled sound from the kitchen. Jocelyn emerged with the baby, a bottle, and an incredulous expression. She shoved the baby and the bottle into Roland’s arms and planted herself in front of John, jabbing his chest with her index finger.

“Let me get this straight,” she seethed. “You came to apologize...to _that_ joker.” 

Jocelyn pointed at Roland without breaking eye contact with John.

“Yeees,” said John, slowly. He sensed a rising tension in the room.

“You think Roland deserves an apology, because you almost made him miss Roland Jr.’s birth.”

John gulped and attempted a smile, but it manifested as more of a grimace. Something about this apology didn’t sit well with Jocelyn, but damned if he could figure out what.

“What. About. _Me?_ ” Her voice dropped to a growl.

“You...” 

John nodded as if he knew exactly what she was referring to, buying himself time to rack his brain. There was that time when he’d asked a pregnant Jocelyn if she was sure she wasn’t having twins. There was the town council potluck where he’d made voluble fun of tater tot casseroles only to turn and find Jocelyn peeling the tinfoil off just such a dish. There was the Jazzagals performance where he fell asleep and woke himself up with a snore during Jocelyn’s solo. 

John drew a breath to launch into a three-for-one _I’m sorry_ , but Jocelyn spoke first.

“I waited at home as long as I could as the contractions got _closer_ and _closer_ together. I kept calling and texting Roland. Finally, _your wife_ had to drive me to the hospital,” Jocelyn said, gritting her teeth and leaning in until her furious expression filled John’s field of vision. “I had to check myself in at the hospital. I had to carry my own overnight bag. I have never been in so much pain. It felt like being axe murdered. I thought I was going to have the baby _all by myself!_ And you think you owe _him_ an apology?” 

The pitch of Jocelyn’s voice had risen to Robert Plant levels. John held up his hands and opened his mouth, fumbling for the right words to defuse the situation, but Jocelyn manhandled him out the door before he could begin.

“Get the hell out of here!” she yelled. “And don’t come back until you’re _ready to babysit!_ ”

The door slammed in John’s face.

\--

It had been a mixed bag so far, this High Holiday season, John mused, sipping his coffee on the morning after his day off from apologies. On the one hand, you had Twyla’s divine apple cake. On the other, you had the surprising results of John’s first few attempts at making amends. He supposed it was like anything; you got better with practice. Well, John had encountered plenty of setbacks on the road to building a video store empire, but he never let them faze him. He pulled his list out of his wallet and considered the next name. He’d had a break yesterday and was good to go. Stevie would be in the office right now. He’d talk to her right away and get on with his day, fortified in the knowledge that when the going got tough, the tough apologized.

The office was deserted when John opened the door. That was odd. Weren’t they expecting several check-ins this morning? It wasn’t like Stevie to leave the desk unattended, not now that business was picking up. Where could she be? Then John heard a crash and a yelp from the tiny storage room behind the reception desk. He ran to over to check on Stevie.

“Stevie, are you okay?” he called, swinging the door wide open.

“Oh my God, Mr. Rose!”

Stevie was indeed in the storage room, but she wasn’t alone. John reeled back, throwing an arm over his face as if to shield his eyes from a blinding light. The problem was, the images he’d just glimpsed were probably burned permanently into his brain through sheer trauma. The contents of a file box scattered across the floor. Stevie and Emir using the tiny desk wedged into the room in a way it probably wasn’t designed to support structurally. And way, way too much exposed skin.

John fled the office and ran to his room, where he remained holed up until his compulsion to check on the new arrivals outweighed his embarrassment. He returned to the office, knocking as he entered as an added precaution.

Stevie sat behind the desk with a stricken expression. Emir was nowhere to be seen. When John entered the room, Stevie busied herself with the computer unconvincingly, stealing a glance at him as he strolled over to the desk with an attempt at nonchalance.

“Hi, Mr. Rose,” Stevie greeted John in a small voice, looking everywhere but at him. “What did you want to tell me? You know. Earlier.”

“Well, it’s a funny thing,” John said, faking a laugh. “I was actually coming to apologize...for the time when I accidentally saw...that photo of you...on your phone.”

Stevie’s head snapped up and she looked at John in disbelief.

“You came to say you were sorry that you saw a picture of me naked,” she clarified. “And in so doing, you _actually_ saw me naked.”

“That...appears to be the case,” John said, wincing. “Look, Stevie, there’s a Jewish tradition of apologizing to those whom you have wronged, so...”

“Mr. Rose, I get that you were trying to make a nice gesture,” said Stevie. “But next time? Could you, just, like, leave me out of it? No offense, but in the wrong hands, this tradition seems like it has the potential to make things a whole lot worse.”

John shuffled his feet.

“Sure, Stevie—whatever you think is best,” he said, deflated. “I’ll just go work on the maintenance budget. I’ll be back to cover your lunch break.” 

Sheish. This atoning business was a lot harder now than it had seemed when John was a kid. “Sorry I lost a crucial piece of your Lego pirate ship.” “Sorry I broke your window playing baseball.” “Sorry I played beer pong on your dorm room bed.” An apology, a shrug of forgiveness, and all was forgotten. Or were these Schitt’s Creek folks just tougher customers than the people John had grown up with?

The next day, John decided to pick up the traditional Rosh Hashanah apples and honey from Rose Apothecary and capitalize on the opportunity to make amends with David. 

Steeling himself for the first of the Big Ones, John pushed open the door to the store and was greeted with a pleasant waft of scent from the candle display. David was arranging a rack of Dia de los Muertos-themed silk screened tea towels. 

“David,” John greeted his son heartily. “Just the purveyor of artisanal merchandise I was looking for.”

“Hi,” David said, somehow giving the word more than one syllable and an inflection that suggested that John’s wallet, if not his presence per se, was always welcome in the store.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” said Alexis, popping out of the office with a bundle of cardboard shapes suspended on strings.

“Alexis, you’re here too?”

“I’m helping David work on Google Ads for a new line of car air fresheners. This one smells like pumpkin spice latte, so that’s going to be this season’s bestseller for sure,” Alexis said, showing John a coffee-mug-shaped air freshener. “This one is mulled wine.”

John gave the cardboard cutout of a wine glass a sniff.

“Huh. Pretty close to the real thing. Just don’t get pulled over with that one in your car. The cops will make you take a breathalyzer test.”

“Dad, ew.”

“What’s this one?” John selected an oddly shaped piece of cardboard.

“Campfire.”

“You think people really want their car to smell like a campfire?”

“Of course! It’s romantic, authentic…”

“Authentic? It’s a piece of cardboard on a string.”

“Dad, what did you actually come in for?” David interjected, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Point me in the direction of your apples and honey, son.”

David led John to a cluster of rustic wooden barrels filled with blushing apples. 

“We have several locally grown varietals, including Honeycrisp, Ontario Gold, and Schitt’s Pride,” David explained. “The Honeycrisp and Schitt’s Pride are my favorites for snacking, and Ontario Gold lends itself to baking and applesauce.”

John duly selected some Honeycrisp and Schitt’s Pride, then grabbed a jar of what purported to be raw, unfiltered wildflower honey. He dug out his wallet while David rang him up.

“That comes to $25.99.”

“How much?”

“Twenty-five Canadian dollars and ninety-nine cents,” David articulated with irked precision.

“For four apples and a few ounces of honey?”

“Okay, I’ll have you know this honey was produced by artisans!”

“I thought honey was produced by bees!”

“Do you want this stuff or not?”

John sighed and gave David the cash. David handed over a branded craft paper carrier bag.

“Have a nice day,” he said frostily when John didn’t make a move to leave.

“Listen, David…”

“If you’re going to ask about the friends and family discount, that was during our opening week only.”

“That’s not—” John broke off. “Actually, Alexis, I wanted to talk to you, too.”

David narrowed his eyes suspiciously as Alexis sauntered over with her bundle of air fresheners. John cleared his throat. _Just spit it out._ He twiddled an air freshener in his hands.

“I just wanted to...to say...” _I’m sorry. Two little words. How hard can this possibly be?_ The pause became painfully long. David’s irritated expression melted away, and he and Alexis looked at each other and back at John with alarm.

“I wanted to say that the store looks great,” John said at last. “David, I love what you and Patrick have done with the Halloween decorations. And Alexis, with your help, those air fresheners are going to fly off the shelves.”

“You bet!” said Alexis, smiling at the compliment, but shooting David a concerned look as John turned to go.

John cursed his own cowardice as he walked back to the motel. His earlier apologies had rolled trippingly off the tongue. Yes, each of them had had unintended consequences, but the goodwill was there. The effort was there. With the passage of time, John felt sure he’d be able to laugh about the flubbed apologies with Ronnie, Bob, Stevie, and the Schitts. 

The problem was, all of them had been a warmup for the amends he really, really needed to make. Just thinking about it, though, his stomach quailed and his resolution seemed to drain away. Maybe what he needed to do was to sweeten the whole deal. More apple cake? There was nothing more Jewish than urging your family to overeat. He’d stop by the cafe and see what Twyla had today. As someone who was Jew-curious, maybe she’d thought to lay in a supply of the traditional round challah.

John pushed open the door of Cafe Tropical and found himself in line behind Ronnie, who was waiting for a to-go order and staring at a new flyer taped to the side of the bakery case.

ATONE IN TUNE WITH TSUR EMEK!  
Yom Kippur services held at Elmdale Convention Center

“Hi, Ronnie.” Maybe now would be a good time to apologize for his previous apology, John thought.

“You going to this?” Ronnie asked, nodding at the flyer.

“No. I stopped by on Rosh Hashanah, but it wasn’t really...my kind of thing.”

Ronnie laughed.

“Me neither. You know what, you should check out my chavurah. It’s a great group of people. We’re meeting in the town hall on Yom Kippur and we actually need one more this year to make a minyan.”

“Your chavurah? Ronnie, you’re _Jewish_?”

Ronnie glowered. 

“Don’t tell me you’re making assumptions based on appearances again.”

John rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Ronnie. Give me a little credit,” he said irritably. “It’s just that I’d have thought you’d bring this up earlier! This whole time, I thought the Roses were the only members of the tribe in town.”

“I’m just messing with you, Johnny,” said Ronnie, dropping her stern look and breaking into a smile. “And no, you’re not the only ones. See you around ten on Yom Kippur?” 

John grinned.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

\--

Somehow, three more days slipped by without John crossing the last apologies off his list. It seemed like his family were never home, and when they were, the kids had their earbuds in, and Moira was on the phone arranging studio time to re-record dialogue for _The Crows Have Eyes III_. There was never a quiet, opportune moment to say what he needed to say. Or maybe, John thought, lying awake next to Moira on the eve of Yom Kippur, he should admit to himself that he was making excuses. Because he really, really didn’t want to say it. Not even to himself.

The morning of Yom Kippur, John waved away the cup of coffee Moira offered him as he dressed.

“It’s Yom Kippur, remember? I’m fasting.” 

“John, surely you can have one cup of coffee,” said Moira. “Black, no sugar? This is purely medicinal, to prevent the truly crushing caffeine withdrawal headache that will descend upon you in mere hours. It is admirable that you have chosen to observe this holy occasion. But surely the rabbinic authorities would not want you to suffer.”

“On the contrary, my dear, they most definitely _would_ want me to suffer,” John said, tying his shoes. “Today is the Day of Atonement. I’m atoning for a year of mistakes with a day of hunger pangs and caffeine withdrawal. It’s not such a bad deal.”

“But John, you have nothing to atone for!”

John’s heart seemed to clench painfully. He took the coffee cup from Moira and set it on the table before wrapping his arms around her. He looked into her eyes: clear, intelligent, filled with affection and a hint of concern, and softened by crow’s feet that Botox had (fortunately, in John’s opinion) not entirely succeeded in smoothing. 

He opened his mouth to make the speech he’d been silently rehearsing for the past week, but just then, David and Alexis walked in munching cinnamon rolls. The scent hit John like a tidal wave. It was intolerable. Every fiber of his being urged him to grab the pastries from the sticky paws of his offspring and stuff them into his mouth. He sighed. It was going to be a long day. 

He released Moira from the hug and looked around at his family, assembled in front of him, ripe for the apologizing. _Do it now._

“David, Alexis, great timing,” he said. “I was just going to tell your mother—and this is something I want to say to you, too...” 

He trailed off.

“Yes?” Alexis said sweetly, uncurling the doughy spiral of her cinnamon roll.

“Well, I was going to say...”

“Spit it out,” said David, muffled by a mouthful of sticky pastry.

“I was going to say… Are those the cinnamon rolls from reception? Because those are for guests!”

The kids exchanged a guilty look. John sighed.

“Listen, why don’t you all come with me for Yom Kippur with Ronnie’s chavurah? It’ll be great. We’ll sing, and pray, and as soon as the sun goes down we’ll order pizza. Come on. Let’s do this as a family.”

An uncomfortable silence followed.

“That sounds…” Alexis finally said, looking at the ceiling as if for inspiration.

“Excruciating,” David finished for her. “Sorry, Dad, but a _chavurah?_ Filled with _townspeople?_ _Singing?_ Not exactly my cup of tea.” 

He held up his paper cup of motel coffee with an apologetic smile.

“As the resident shiksa, I must also claim exemption from this particular occasion,” Moira said, grabbing John’s hand and giving it a little squeeze. “But I’ll be on alert for a desperate text from you requesting a secret sandwich delivery when it all goes south.”

“That won’t happen,” John said with more confidence than he felt. God, a BLT from the cafe would be good right now. Then again, eating bacon on Yom Kippur? He shook his head to dispel the tantalizing thought. 

“Skipping lunch isn’t going to kill me.” John grabbed his suit jacket and headed to the door. “See you all this evening.”

John arrived promptly at ten and greeted the other nine locals. He knew a few from around town and introduced himself to the rest. They arranged folding chairs in a circle and grabbed photocopied sheets of prayers and songs.

“This is literally the only gathering of this group I can think of where we don’t start with a nosh,” Ronnie joked, sitting down to get things rolling. The rest of the morning passed pleasantly with parts of the traditional Yom Kippur synagogue service interspersed with songs familiar and unfamiliar, all punctuated with plenty of laughter.

Early afternoon rolled around and the minyan members shared some personal reflections. Finally, it was John’s turn. He worried the photocopies in his hand, rolling and unrolling them, and glanced around at the group with an uncomfortable chuckle.

“This is actually the first year since I was in college that I’ve tried to observe the High Holidays. In my family, we usually make a big deal of Thanksgiving and Christmas, but not so much the Jewish holidays. Most years, I was so wrapped up with Rose Video, I never even checked the dates till long after they’d passed. So I never really got the kids involved. It wasn’t on purpose, it just...never happened.”

Nodding from members of the group. Encouraged, John went on.

“Well, I’m not sure what inspired me this year, but I started out with trying to, you know, say I was sorry. To at least some of the people in my life who deserved an apology from me. It wasn’t as easy as I thought, though. Ronnie, yours was the first apology I tried, and we both know how that went!”

Ronnie barked out a laugh.

“Anyway, the thing is, I still haven’t said I’m sorry to my kids and my wife. Every time I go to say those words, I choke. This might sound odd, but I feel like I could say them to you all, and I just met some of you. But I can’t seem to say them to the people who matter most to me. And now it’s too late. Yesterday was the deadline.”

“Deadline? Spoken like a true businessperson,” a woman teased gently. “And hey, maybe you just need a dress rehearsal. Why not try saying it now?”

The photocopies swam in front of him, and John realized belatedly that there were tears in his eyes. 

“Okay,” he said. He tried to drag his gaze away from the wood floor with its scuffed finish, but he couldn’t. He was vaguely aware of a door opening and closing—one of the minyan taking a bathroom break, no doubt. That was fine with him. One fewer to hear this. He took a deep breath. 

“So… Some of you know that I used to be CEO of Rose Video. But my business partner—he committed fraud and we lost everything. Funnily enough, this town was the only thing that they couldn’t take. That’s why we moved to Schitt’s Creek. That’s why we live in the motel. It was a big change for all of us. So what I want to say to my family is, I shouldn’t have placed so much trust in my partner. I always thought I was a smart guy and a good judge of character. But about him, I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was my mistake that gave him the opening. And I’m sorry.”

“Oh, John,” came Moira’s voice from behind him. John stood up suddenly and turned to see Moira, Alexis, and David standing there. 

Then the welcome sight dissolved into a gray spiral and everything went dark.

When John came to, he was lying on the floor. He stared up into a circle of worried faces. 

“John! Oh my God, are you all right?” asked Moira.

“You must have passed out from low blood sugar,” said Alexis, taking his hand.

“What year is it? Who’s the prime minister?” said David, his eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” John blurted. “It was my fault we lost everything. Forgive me.”

Moira and the kids looked at one another with amused smiles.

“We heard you,” said Moira, leaning down to kiss John. “But John, it wasn’t your fault. Partners trust each other. It’s what they do. You did nothing wrong. _He_ did.”

“But if I hadn’t been so naive…”

“Then I’d still be miserable and surrounded by a bunch of phonies who were pretending to be my friends because of our money and the gallery,” David filled in.

“And I’d be stuck on some yacht with a jealous Greek playboy, which is not even close to as fun as it sounds,” said Alexis.

“And I’d be grasping at career straws and masking the futility with prescription medications,” said Moira softly.

“Instead I’m running a business with my best friend, who happens to also be my hot boyfriend,” David continued.

“I graduated from high school and community college in the same year, and I have my own company. And ditto, re: the hot boyfriend,” Alexis added.

“And I’m on the council, John. Our neighbors voted for me. They entrusted _me_ with responsibility for this whole town,” said Moira. “Anyway, I never lost the thing that matters most.”

“Lydia?” John offered weakly, thinking of Moira’s prized wig, the one with the ringlets.

Moira actually snorted.

“You,” she corrected. “And you, and you.” She turned to Alexis and David. “Now, enough of this. I left this kind of melodrama behind in Sunrise Bay, thank goodness.”

Alexis and David shook their heads and grinned at each other as Moira helped John sit up and handed him a bottle of orange juice.

An hour later they were snugly ensconced in a booth at Cafe Tropical. Moira and the kids had placed their orders, and Twyla was looking at John expectantly. He, however, was engaged in a mighty struggle for his soul. The BLT was so tempting. Hadn’t he paid his dues? Didn’t he deserve it at this point?

“I’ll have…the Reuben,” John finally said with resignation. 

“You got it, Mr. Rose.”

But when David’s omelette arrived with a side of bacon and he subtly slid a piece onto John’s plate, it did not go uneaten.

Oh well, thought John, savoring the salty, forbidden delight. He’d atone for this next year.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this I would love to hear from you. I'm not on social media so your kudos and comments here are extra-specially appreciated!! : )
> 
> One note on the story itself: since it's pretty common for people who don’t regularly attend services to go at this time of year, the synagogue in this story is holding its Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services at the Elmdale Convention Center. They are expecting a much bigger crowd than they normally get, so they need to rent space. I called the synagogue Tsur Emek, which I _think _means “Rock of the Dale.” Somebody who actually knows Hebrew please feel free to correct me. : )__


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